


the underdog

by indiavolojones



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiavolojones/pseuds/indiavolojones
Summary: “Are you always thismysteriousandconfusing?”“Only when it amuses me to be.” He reminds you so much of Lucifer, and yet he’s so much wilder. Not as stuck up, andmuchmore fun, Satan might say himself if you asked. Lucifer is cold, reserved, always in perfect order; Satan seems to toy the line between control and chaos. While you haven’t truly seen it yourself - you have yet to see full extensions of all their powers - you’ve heard stories from Mammon of Satan’s wrath.Satan, as at ease as he’s made you, is still dangerous.[You're struggling to adjust to the Devildom. Satan invites you sightseeing.]
Relationships: Asmodeus/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 282





	the underdog

"I wonder when it'll wear off," you say out loud. Mammon stops midway through his rant to give you a strange look. 

“What’ll wear off?” 

“Whatever drugs I’ve been unknowingly slipped, obviously,” you snort. Mammon has an almost sympathetic look in his eye. 

“Are you still in denial? It’s been a week.” Mammon huffs. You frown at him. 

One glance at the D.D.D. tells you that it’s been exactly seven days since you first arrived in the Devildom - last week you’d made plans to meet up with a friend to check out a new club that opened downtown today. You won’t make it. One look outside the entirely too elaborate window at the distant lights of a foreign city tells you as much. You aren’t even able to call him to let him know that you won’t be there. Your family and friends have to have noticed you’re missing. There’s no way that they wouldn’t - you’re not the most popular person, but you have friends. You have people in your life that _have_ to notice. 

Right? 

There’s a sinking feeling in your gut - what if they don’t? 

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Mammon waves a hand in front of your face. You flinch back. He’s been talking, but you can barely hear it for the roaring in your ears. What if you never make it back? Your job might notice, but you’re just another cog in the machine and the turnover rate is high in your field. They’ll probably just think you’re a no call, no show. Your shitty manager will just take you off the schedule. 

“You alright?”

No girlfriends or boyfriends - she broke up with you a few weeks ago. No passion left in your three year relationship - no one’s fault, just time and distance and a lot of sad, tired tears. You live far enough from your divorced parents that it’s common to not hear from you for stretches of time. You curse your tendencies to be a bad kid. The air in the room is hard to breath. Mammon’s starting to look concerned. Although vocal about his displeasure, Mammon has been a steady presence at your side for the last few days. He’s an alright dude - too loud, complains a lot, but he’s the one that brought his demon PS4 console equivalent (PainStation 4 - you’d laughed, despite yourself) over to your room in the first place. 

But Mammon is one of the people keeping you here. Mammon is a _demon_.

You can’t be here right now, hanging out like you’re two buddies playing video games together on a Friday night.

“I need some air.” You announce, standing up. Mammon nearly falls out of the armchair at your sudden movement. 

“What?! It’s almost eleven at night! You should be heading to bed.” You don’t let yourself linger on the ridiculousness of a demon telling you it’s your bedtime. 

“It’s fine, I want to clear my head.” Shrugging on a jacket, you’re already two steps to the door while Mammon scrambles to untangle himself from the wires of the gaming controller. 

“Give me one second, you ridiculous human. I’ll come with you.” You don’t wait. Your heart thudding in your chest, your hands are shaking as you reach the knob. 

“I’ll be fine!” The door shuts behind you before Mammon even gets his shoes on. You hear Mammon shouting your name down the hall, but even though you’re not as fast as him, you had a head start and you’re crafty. You book it, taking random sharp turns down a few other halls. Mammon lives up to being one of the faster brothers, because he’s not far behind you. You can hear his confused, irritated whisper-shouts for you - it’s late, he’s not trying to wake up the entire household. Lucifer wouldn’t approve of such activity. You aren’t ready to head back to your room - you grit your teeth and duck into another alcove. 

“Oi, stupid human. What are you doing?!” He hisses through his teeth. You hold your breath, hiding behind a large suit of armor. Moments pass, Mammon’s soft footsteps fading on the carpet as he gets further away. You finally let yourself exhale, when something grabs your wrist. Slapping a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from yelling, you look at what’s touching you. Asmodeus is there, wrapped in a plush bathrobe. He places one finger to his lips in a _‘shh’_ motion, violet eyes full of mirth. He continues to hold your wrist, thumb brushing over your elevated pulse point as you stand in silence together. 

“What the hell! Where did you go? Lucifer’s gonna kill me if you get eaten,” Mammon’s voice returns suddenly as he heads back to your bedroom, presumably. Asmo holding you back saved you from being discovered. Another few moments of silence pass as Mammon’s grumbles disappear down the halls of the House of Lamentation. You finally stop looking down the hallway for him, and turn to Asmodeus to find that he’s been staring at you the entire time. 

“Thank you,” you say, blushing under his gaze. Asmodeus’ laugh is like tinkling bells. 

“Trying to escape my idiot brother? I don’t blame you.” 

“I needed some air,” you say, wincing at how lame that sounds. 

"He won't come looking in my room," Asmodeus says, not quite relinquishing his hold on you. Asmodeus' hands are delicate, one of his sharp, painted nails dragging up your forearm. You shiver. Asmodeus is breathtaking - his soft, blond hair tumbles into his eyes like a Regency era painting. His skin is clear, eyes bright and enchanting. Your mouth goes dry with want. With Asmodeus this close to you, you can almost lie to yourself that this is normal. 

  
  


The next thing you know, the back of your knees are hitting the edge of Asmodeus' bed - or, well, one of his beds. The entire room is covered in beds and cushions, which in the moment, you barely register as strange. Asmodeus pushes you down into the plush duvet, and you reach out to steady yourself. As luck would have it, while one hand props you upright, the other hand rests on Asmodeus' hip. All the movement lifts Asmodeus' shirt, revealing a flash of skin right within your reach. Your thumb traces the cut of Asmodeus’ lower stomach, nerves finally kicking back in now that it really seems like there’s progress being made.

Is this alright? You wonder, a sudden burst of doubt. They’re _demons_ \- your pastor father would be red in the face with indignant rage and horror. You’re still not completely sure you aren’t having an absolute mental breakdown, complete with horny hallucinations and God fearing guilt. Asmodeus sits himself properly in your lap, jerking you out of your thoughts. 

"I can hear you thinking," he laughs, his breath close to your ear, "Just pay attention to me.” 

You nod. Swallow. Your every nerve on fire, you let Asmodeus tilt your head back with one of his hands in your hair. Asmodeus' lips are soft as they press insistent, playful kisses along the line of your throat. A low groan slips past your lips, growing in volume when Asmodeus tightens his grip on your hair. Asmodeus' hand is harsh for only a moment, before it lets go and strokes through your hair adoringly. 

"Am I interrupting?" Satan asks.

Jerking back in surprise, you realize that Asmodeus never closed the door. The fifth brother is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and an irritated frown on his lips. Asmodeus displays a surprising amount of strength trapping you, considering how fast you try to climb out from under him. Asmodeus places a firm hand on your shoulder, apologetic as he pecks you on the cheek. 

“One second, love.” His expression turns pouty as he looks at Satan, “Do you _mind_?” 

His voice is still light, but there’s an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Asmo, we were _supposed_ to be meeting Solomon at eleven.” Satan pointedly glances at the watch on his wrist. Asmodeus looks away from you, a strange glow to his eyes. 

“How could I think about going out for dinner when I have something I want to eat right in front of me?” Asmodeus laughs, a hand sliding from your hair down your back. You can smell the heady scent of his perfume, somehow both feminine and masculine, and doubly enchanting.

“I should go,” you say, looking between the two brothers. You try and slide out of Asmodeus’ hands, but Asmodeus has a solid grip on your face, forcing you to stare into his eyes. 

“Don’t mind Satan, darling. “ Asmodeus presses your chests together, an almost hypnotic quality to how his free hand runs through the hair at the back of your head. “Give me all your attention. You know I love it.” 

Asmodeus dips down, and then he’s kissing you. 

By conventional standards, it’s a great kiss - actually, there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s one of the best you’ve ever had. Asmodeus smells nice, looks gorgeous, his lips are _so_ soft - but there is no way in hell (your current location?) that you can ignore Satan’s derisive scoff.

“Really, Asmo?” Satan says. You pull away, and Asmo looks startled when you break the kiss. 

“I really should go,” you say again, firmer this time. Your hands, previously resting on Asmodeus’ hips, are now pressed against his chest, pushing lightly. Asmodeus stops, stares into your eyes, and then blinks. He leans away to look you up and down. 

“Huh, that’s strange,” he begins - you take your chance at the other’s confusion, and manage to finagle your way out from underneath him. Your eyes meet Satan’s indecipherable ones for a moment, before immediately dropping your gaze in embarrassment. At some point, though you genuinely can’t remember when, several buttons on your shirt had come undone. You mumble an apology as you step around Satan, fingers clumsily trying to close your shirt. 

Asmodeus says something to Satan, but you’re too busy definitely-not-running out of his room to catch it. Satan’s reply is lost to the roaring in your ears. 

  
  
  


You stumble down the hall in the general direction of your room, rounding a corner when you collide with someone. Or you assume it’s a person, but it might as well have been another wall if the solidness of the impact was anything to go by.

“Sorry - “ You begin, looking up at who you ran into. You might have guessed Mammon at first, simply because the other is looking for you, but Mammon isn’t this much taller than you. You find yourself looking straight up at the tallest brother. You register vague interest in the other’s eyes. Beelzebub has the biggest sandwich you’ve ever seen in his left hand. A smile breaks on your face at how cartoonish the sandwich looks, overstuffed with meat and vegetables as it is. 

“This is mine,” he holds the sandwich closer to him, having caught you looking at it. 

“Oh no, I wasn’t going to try and take it,” you hold your hands out. He nods, but doesn’t fully relax. 

“Good. Are you lost?” He looks around, “Where’s Mammon? Isn’t he supposed to be watching you?” 

You turn your head to look around.

“No....” You deflate, “ _Yes_. And no idea. I was hiding from him.” 

Beelzebub tilts his head to the side, his face breaking into a wide smile.

“Hiding from him… was Asmo involved?” You cover your jump with a cough. 

“What makes you say that?”

“You smell like him,” Beelzebub sniffs the air, making a face, “He wears too much perfume.” You pull your shirt collar up to sniff at it. “Your shirt buttons are off, too.” 

“What!?” 

Beelzebub is right, you realize in horror. In your haste to leave Asmo’s room, you failed to line your shirt up properly. You’re two buttons off. Your face is bright red, and you’re unable to meet Beelzebub’s eyes. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Well, this has been thoroughly humiliating. I’ll be heading back to my room now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

You don’t even bother trying to fix the buttons. What’s the point of trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity, when this fever dream/nightmare is hellbent on screwing you? You give Beelzebub a wide berth as you move around him - he watches you the entire time, but you can’t make eye contact for long. Once you get further down the hall, you chance a glance back at Beelzebub. He’s still watching you, idly munching on the now half-finished sandwich. You don’t know what to do with that.

These fucking devils. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


After slinking your way back to your room last night, you manage to kick Mammon out once you promise you’ll stay in your room if he leaves you alone for the night. You only feel slightly bad that he ran all over the house looking for you - but hey, he didn’t _have_ to. You did _fine_ on your own, nothing actually ate you. 

Not for lack of trying. You remember Asmo - his grip on your hips, the dizzying smell of his perfume, fuck, _the taste of his lips_ \- your face burns bright red, and you pull one of the other pillows onto your face. If you could successfully smother yourself, you'd be seriously considering it now. You realize you could fall asleep like this, pillow covering your face. 

The blanketing darkness is soothing. Ah, hell. You’re going to fall asleep like this.

  
  
  


You’re not sure _when_ you actually fall asleep, but when you wake, you’re groggy. Unsure of how much time has passed, you scramble around your covers for the phone. Your bad habit of never putting the phone on the nightstand has once again betrayed you, and you can’t seem to locate the sleek device. 

One of the hardest things to adjust to in the Devildom is the lack of an actual day/night cycle. Surrounded by an endless twilight, the Devildom is a gorgeous sight in its own right. You don’t deny that - you just _hate_ not knowing what time it is without your D.D.D. Even though there’s no sun, the stars (you’re actually not sure what they are, but they twinkle and flicker when you look too close) and permanent moon are bright enough light sources that they can manage to keep you awake sometimes.

In a total coincidence, you hear the muffled trill of your text chime somewhere by the foot of your bed. 

“How’d you get over there…” You grumble, flipping up the covers. Scooping the phone into your hand, you swipe in your password as you scratch your stomach with the other. It’s a little past eight in the morning, on a lovely, Devildom weekend. There’s what looks like a ‘weather’ report in the notification section, but you’re not quite sure what language it’s written in. You’ll have to ask Mammon to change it to something you can understand. You have two unread messages from Satan, and you slide your thumb down to open the messages page. 

**Satan** : _Are you awake?_

 **Satan** : _I’m planning to go for a walk. Would you like to come along? I’ll show you around town._

You read Satan’s messages, hesitant to reply. Satan had looked irritated with you and Asmo last night, so you’re not sure where this request is coming from. You haven’t really talked with the fourth brother. The third message rolls in as you’re looking at the chat.

 **Satan** : _There must be so many places that you’ve still not been to yet._

Although… you don’t have anything planned today, and you still haven’t completely shrugged off the cabin fever. You’re sure it will only mount in its frenzy if you try to hang out in your room all day. Mammon will surely come knock your door down, and while you’re still fond of him, you think you need a little fresh air. Steeling yourself, you tap a reply.

_-Yeah, just let me get ready first._

You hop out of your pajamas, tugging on a pair of jeans. None of the clothes you have here are from your home - the dressers had been stocked for you by the brothers. The more you get to know them, the more you’re sure it was probably a mix of Asmo and Lucifer choosing your clothes. There’s a strange stripe pattern down the sides, and plaid cuffs at the bottom. To be honest, you probably wouldn’t have chosen this, but the Devildom seems to have a strange idea of fashion. 

The phone chirps again as you’re brushing your teeth.

 **Satan** : _I’ll be waiting at the gate, so hurry up._

Ah, shit - you finish rinsing your mouth, and throw on the rest of an outfit. Even as you’re rushing through the final touches of making sure you look presentable, you can’t help the troublesome thought that makes you pause. Well, you might as well ask. You grab the phone again, sending the message before you put on a jacket. 

_-Why did you invite me?_

You’re shutting the door behind you when your phone rings again, two rapid-fire responses, one after the other. 

**Satan** : _I wanted someone to carry these cat toys for me._

 **Satan** : _It’s quite embarrassing to be seen holding these colorful little mouse-shaped things._

Alright, keep your secrets, Satan. You snort, locking the phone as you head down the hall to the front.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


Satan wasn’t kidding about the mouse toys. You can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes your lips as you approach, peering at the brightly colored tiny balls of fluff. Your hands, previously tucked into your jacket pockets, are now outstretched, grabbing at Satan’s mice. 

“You were serious,” you cry with glee as Satan deposits them into your hands. There’s five in total - five silly, tiny, fake rodents. Satan gives you a wry smile, but then crosses his arms. 

“I’m always serious.” He says. For a moment, you believe him - but then there’s a glint of something challenging in his eye, and you’re grinning at him. 

“Of course.” 

“Shall we?” Satan asks, gestures at the gate. 

You peer up at the wrought iron gate, winding vines circling the massive posts. The stonework in the pillars is impressive, intimidating, and yet, you feel euphoria for having even made it this far at all. You’re not really sure what Satan’s intentions are - you glance at him, at his polite smile, his outstretched, welcoming hand - but your reservations are overpowered by your sheer curiosity. What do the streets of the Devildom look like? The stores? The food? Are the inhabitants like the ones at RAD? You have to know. You have to see.

“Yes,” you say, breathlessly. 

  
  
  


The first stop Satan takes you to is Majolish. You’ve heard it referenced in passing multiple times, as well as seen the shop link on Akuzon. He explains the trends in fashion tend to mimic what is scariest to humans at the time. Lucifer had been absolutely thrilled when Slenderman became a popular thing in the human world, because it got easier for him to find his sleek, imported suits without paying exorbitant amounts of grimm. You hide a laugh behind your hand.  
  


Then your adventure brings you to the Mausoleum, and you can’t help but gape up at the foreboding architecture. “This is where the Old Kings Rest.” Satan murmurs, reverence in his tone. Other than the obviously eerie aspects of it, the gargoyles perched on the jagged arches creep you out the most.

“It feels like they’re watching me,” you whisper to him. He quirks a brow conspiratorially at you, before a dark grin rises to his lips.

“They _are_ watching you.” He says, and you can only look up in horror as, _yep_ , one of the stone gargoyles unfurls their wings and lurches off the stone. You’re not too proud to admit you take a step back, but the gargoyle doesn’t come down from the high altitude. It circles around the Mausoleum until it finds another, presumably better perch. You can see rocks and dust knocked off the stone walls as the gargoyle settles in its new spot. 

Satan is amused at your gaping expression, “Shall we go?” 

You practically drag him away. 

  
  
You check your D.D.D. as Satan hails a carriage. There aren't any cars in the Devildom, only carriages drawn by ghostly apparitions of horses, and sometimes whole skeleton horse-like beasts. You're still a little hesitant to stare at them for too long, because they seem to always know when someone is looking at them. No messages yet, but it's only about ten o'clock. You may not know him that well yet, but you have a feeling Mammon's the type of person to wake around noon on a weekend. You're idly closing apps on your phone to save battery (not that you've had a power issues with this phone, you're just so used to your crappy phone in the human world) when you stumble upon the alien weather notification again. 

Satan pulls open the elegant looking carriage door, and you look up momentarily to climb in. He follows after you, shutting the gate behind him. Instead of sitting across from you, he sits next to you. Satan peers into your lap, looking at your screen. 

"You can't read that, can you?" He points at the elaborate, foreign Devildom script scrolling across the screen. You flush. 

"No."

Satan huffs, and extends his hand, "Give it to me. I'll switch it to English." 

The Royal Library towers above the other buildings in the area, your neck cranes uncomfortably up at the castle-like building. It’s an impressive looking structure - honestly, all the architecture in the Devildom seems to be even more opulent than the next. However, your heart sinks a little at this being your next destination. You enjoy a good book as much as the next person, but you’re not quite sure you want to spend time in a stuffy library right now. You wrinkle your nose a little, turning when you hear Satan shut the carriage door behind him as he exits. 

“This is one of my favorite places to visit.” Satan says, but he’s not walking up the front steps. He’s actually circling around the side of the building, until you reach an old, rickety looking gate. You point up at the cream brick walls, you can see figures mulling around the aisles through the frosted, stained glass.

“Uh, are we going inside?” 

Satan looks confused, tilting his head at you, “Why? Did you need to borrow a book?” He leads you into the tight, side passageway. 

“...No? Wait, where are we going - “ You say, as the passageway opens up into a large garden at the back of the library. There’s a nearby hedge maze, and you can see a trickling fountain in a courtyard only a few yards away. It’s gorgeous, peaceful, and you find your breath caught at its splendor. You gawk as you look around at the lush surroundings, surprised to see such natural beauty in, well, _hell_. 

Satan walks over to one of the stone benches, tucked close to the side of the library. You follow, looking perplexed. Just as you open your mouth to say something, Satan is turning his head to look at you, one finger pressed against his lips. 

“Shh.” He says, before turning back to the bushes. He crouches, reaching his hand out. The bushes rustle. A little creature pops its head out of the leaves - you gasp. It’s an honestly kind of chubby, cream colored cat, very vocal as it chirps at Satan. It rubs itself aggressively against his hand, crossing between his legs. You didn’t realize the Devildom had cats. Isn’t it dangerous for them here? You ask Satan this. 

“Cats are far more clever than your average devil,” Satan says with confidence, scratching her under the chin. “Eve, however, is in a league of her own. This little beast has single-handedly decimated the rodent problem around this part of town. Rats in a library are a liability.” 

“Eve, the garden cat.” You say, crouching down slowly as well. You reach out your own hand, but Eve doesn’t even look your way. 

“Perhaps it was a little too on the nose...” Satan admits, a frown on his face. “Do you still have the mice?” You gasp, reaching back to your pocket to grab the handful of tiny mice. Eve immediately seems interested in you now, and she slinks over to brush up against your legs now. She paws at a mouse you dangle in front of her, pouncing on it when you toss the toy down.   
  
  
  


You hear and feel The Fall before you see it. The booming music emanating from the - club? Brothel? General den of iniquity? - building can be heard down the street. You can even feel the rumbling of the bass in the ground. 

“I wonder how many noise complaints get filed about this place,” you wonder aloud. This actually startles a laugh from Satan.

“How human of you. Do you really think devils lodge noise complaints?” You blush, and shove him. Satan actually looks surprise at your physicality, but you’re sure with his inhuman devil strength and all that, you’re unlikely to hurt him. Still, he does look a little put off. 

“Sorry,” you begin - but he’s brushing you with his shoulder in return. He turns his nose up and tilts it away from you, a mixed impression of both Lucifer and Asmo in one go. 

" _Bold_ of you to attack one of the devil lords of the Devildom.” 

“Do devils have a legal system? A jury? I’m sure I could make an appeal, he was being facetious.” 

“Facetious? Enlighten me, human, _what_ did I give undue mockery?” Satan calls your bluff. 

“Alright, fine. You're being a smart ass.” You give up, throwing your hands in the air. Satan's an excellent conversationalist. You're unable to get your footing properly, he's too full of vibrant commentary. 

“Even in the human world, no jury would convict me.” He sniffs, but points out. “There! That’s our next stop.” You peer into the distance, still trying to adjust to the loud coloring of all Devildom buildings. The sign is in the Devildom alphabet, but the picture is unmistakable. A fork and knife the size of great-swords are lashed across the laminated image of food. 

“Are you hungry?” 

  
  
  


Eventually, you find yourselves sitting at a bench in a park near Hell’s Kitchen - Satan is a veritable fountain of knowledge, and an excellent tour guide. His stories are passionate, informed, rife with personal experiences from having lived so long. You can’t help but hang off his every word, even with the seemingly boring information. Perhaps it’s the twilight-zone allure of it all, how so much of it seems similar to your own world, and yet so different. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, looking at the comically large _honeyed scorchberry_ flavored ice cream cone in your hands. Satan stops midway through his scathing critique of an overrated, and frankly quite grumpy, Neoclassical sculptor he’d had the misfortune of knowing to look at you. 

“You asked?” He quips, points the spoon of his own ice cream cup - _caramelized crickets in beast blood_ , your stomach lurches at the thought - in your direction. You glare half halfheartedly at him. He knows that’s not what you meant. You sigh, and shake your head. 

“Never mind.” You focus on your ice cream again. Perhaps this isn’t a gift horse you should look in the mouth - you should just enjoy the fact that you’re being let out of your room at all. 

“No.” Satan says, forcefully, and you snap your head up at him. There’s a challenging, assessing look in his eyes as he leans in, close to your ear like he’s sharing a secret, “ _Never_ be afraid to ask your questions. While your curiosity may get you killed, it’s the boldness to have asked at all that may save you in the end.” You’re not sure what to say to that, dumbstruck at your close proximity and the intensity of his stare. He commands your eyes for a moment longer, before he looks down at your hands. 

“You’re dripping,” he says, and shocked, your mind goes straight to the gutter. Your face turns a bright red, looking down at yourself. He can’t possibly mean - _oh_ , your unattended ice cream cone has been melting, dripping over your hand. 

“Ah, shit!” You start, standing up before it spills over into your lap. 

You hold it out in your hands, away from your body so as to not let it drip on your shoes as well. Satan is still seated on the bench, looking up at you with an amused smirk as he bites off another spoonful of his perfectly contained portion. You glower at him, and he just chuckles at your expense. 

Satan reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a few napkins, presumably from the ice cream parlor, “Here.” He brandishes it to you as a peace offering, and amidst your embarrassment, you return a wry smile. It takes several more magical napkins produced from Satan’s pocket to clean up all the mess, but it’s finally gotten back to a manageable level.

“Are you always this _mysterious_ and _confusing_?” You’re finishing up lapping at the new wave of melted ice cream. You should’ve just gotten a cup like Satan. _Damn him_ , he probably knew this was going to happen. 

“Only when it amuses me to be.” He reminds you so much of Lucifer, and yet he’s so much wilder. _Not as stuck up, and_ much _more fun_ , Satan might say himself if you asked. Lucifer is cold, reserved, always in perfect order; Satan seems to toy the line between control and chaos. While you haven’t truly seen it yourself - you have yet to see full extensions of all their powers - you’ve heard stories from Mammon of Satan’s wrath. 

Satan, as at ease as he’s made you, is still dangerous. 

“Why are you being so kind to me?” 

Satan scoops another bite into his mouth as he looks into the distance, “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re a guest in our home. Lucifer has explicitly ordered us to accommodate you in any way we can.” 

“I don’t think he meant for anyone to take me on a sightseeing trip of a supposedly dangerous kingdom.” 

His laugh is rich, and full of mischief, “Oh, make no mistake about it. There’s no way you’d have been able to do this on your own. You’d have been eaten the second you stepped outside the gates if I wasn’t with you,” Satan’s smile is far too cheerful for the words he’s saying. Your stomach lurches again at his words. 

“If I’m being forced to do what Lucifer says, I’m at least going to have fun with it. Besides, it’s interesting to see what you’ll do.” 

Your brows cinch, “What do you mean by that?” 

Satan doesn’t answer you at first. He ponders it for a moment, spoon in his mouth as he taps his knee. Eventually, when he does speak, there’s a contemplative, somber tone to his voice. 

“You’re in a complicated situation,” you feel yourself blush at how his lips form your name. “Lucifer and Diavolo can dress this up as a _fun_ , enriching opportunity as much as they like, but I can see that you’re aware of your predicament. You don’t know if you can trust us as far as you can throw us - perhaps not that analogy, you couldn’t throw us at all.” Satan is _way_ too into this, but he’s not been wrong yet.

“Not only are you a human, you’re a human _without_ magical powers. You’ve been thrust into a world completely different from your own, your life is at risk practically every hour of the day, and you have no choice but to move forward. You’re the _underdog_. The true, unknown variable. Who would turn down an opportunity to be a part of that story?” He finishes the cup, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Tilting his head to the side, he rubs his chin.

“I suggest proceeding with caution, but if you're completely frozen in fear, then this whole year will be boring and a waste of time. Either way, if you want to make it through this year, you’re going to have to keep moving forward. You’re not doing yourself any favors by going crazy alone in your room and running from Mammon, as irritating as he is.” You’re struck with the realization that Satan is right. There’s no point in continuing to wallow self pity. Even so, you’re still suspicious. 

“But _why_ are you telling me this,” you ask him, gobsmacked. Satan shrugs his shoulders, but there’s a challenge in his bright green eyes. 

“I suppose you could say… I’m rooting for you. So don’t let me down, alright?”

Your laughter surprises you, chest feeling lighter than it has in days; 

“I’ll do my best.” 

  
  
  
All hell breaks loose once you return to the House of Lamentation, around what would be three in the afternoon. Satan had kept you longer than you'd expected, but you don't mind. You enter the door, only to be immediately assaulted by a barrage of questions from Mammon, and disapproving stares from Lucifer. Stunned, you're not quite sure how to defend yourself against his rapid fire accusations/threats/complaints - Satan, however, looks like he expected this. They're shooting retorts back at each other, the bickering going fast enough that you can barely keep up. 

"Why didn't you just call me if you were worried?" You ask, worried that you're a step behind everyone else. Mammon shoves his D.D.D. screen into your face.

"We _did_." You blanch at the twenty five missed calls on Mammon's screen, pulling out your own in response. There are no notifications on your screen. Satan rolls his eyes like the two are being far more dramatic than necessary. 

"I thought you could use some time away from your captors," He takes the phone from your hand, quickly flipping through the menu. Now that it's all in English, you see Satan goes to your 'blocked contacts' list. There are two numbers on that list, presumably Lucifer's and Mammon's. Once they're cleared, the notifications come rushing through your phone. 

"When did you.." You begin, before remembering the brief time he'd had your phone in the carriage. Satan, being more comfortable with the interface than you, had gone through several menus in the Devildom language before he gave it back to you. He must have done it then. You don't know if you want to laugh at his sneakiness, or curse him for getting you into this mess.

"Satan! You bastard!" Mammon growls. 

"Do you realize how dangerous - " Lucifer begins, but Satan's eyes are narrowed with the same, provocative intensity. 

"We were _fine_. You know I could have protected them had anything happened." Lucifer's mouth tightens with more displeasure. The three of you hold your breath to see if Lucifer will lash out after being interrupted, but the eldest brother just sighs. He presses a gloved hand to his forehead, and closes his eyes. "Didn't you them to have a well-rounded and educational stay here?" 

"Fine. But know that if anything is to happen to our guest under your care, I will hold both you and Mammon personally responsible for it." With that, he's stalking off into the house. 

"What!? Why me!" Mammon demands after him. Satan's daring smirk only infuriates Mammon more. 

"We had a _lovely_ time, Mammon." Satan beams at you, with the full intention of riling up his brother, "Maybe if you woke up before noon, you would also get to go sightseeing." Mammon splutters, face turning bright red as he scrambles for a retort.   
  


You sneak out of the argument, with the full intent of laying low until Monday. 

"Ah, I wish I could've seen Mammon's face when he realized his number was on your blocked list!" Asmo laughs, one elbow propped up on the table in a sultry, arched sprawl, cards forgotten face down on the table. He’s obviously distracted by something. Satan keeps a more casual posture, his legs crossed as he presses a fist to his chin in thought. Solomon, from behind his huge pile of grimm, is staring intently at his selection of cards. 

“So, when is it my turn?” Asmo says your name. 

Satan doesn’t miss a beat, responding without looking up from his cards, “After Solomon, as it’s always been.” Asmo scowls at first, but then he forms a lovely pout with his mouth, focusing his attention on you. Your mouth goes dry.

“That’s not what I meant!” He whines, and then he’s looking at you with eyes full of promising intent, “I was talking about when you and I would get to spend a little alone time together.” He licks his lips. 

Satan sighs, “That was different, Asmo. I wasn’t jumping their bones.” He places a card into the discard pile. 

“Were you not? Well, your mistake. I’m just saying that we might all get a little jealous if you take our little human treat out on another date, all by your lonesomes,” Asmo sighs, fluttering his eyelashes at you. Even as you frown at him calling you a ‘treat’, you still blush. You’re startled by how much Asmo’s blatant flirting still gets to you. It always brings you back to Asmo’s room, not three days ago. The memory of Asmo’s lips on your neck is still a fresh, wonderful torture. 

Solomon places a card on the table face down, and pulls another from the pile. He glances at the two of you, and the smile on his face is intrigued, “A date?” You fight the rising blush on your cheeks, intently staring at the array of cards in your hand. You’re still not completely sure about the rules for this game, but thankfully Asmo and Satan are amused enough by your sad attempts that they’re paying your (many) losses until you understand the game.

You’ve been keeping them company until the next class bell rings, and when it does, it’s hard to ignore. It’s an obnoxious, behemoth of a bell, easily at home either here in the dark ambience of the Devildom or in the high towers of a grand, gothic cathedral. Satan scoops up the cards on the desk, as you dutifully collect from Asmo and Solomon. Solomon seems a little pouty at not being able to fully complete his turn. 

“I’ll never pass up an opportunity to piss off Lucifer,” Satan grins. While you’re not sure what you expected, you can’t help the disappointment that settles in your chest at his words.

The weight of it follows you all the way back to the House of Lamentation, and up the stairs to your room. You shut the door, and once alone in the darkness of your room, you let yourself exhale. You toss your bag on the couch, phone on the nightstand, and throw yourself face first into bed. 

Your cool sheets are a blessing, and you lay there for a second, not wanting to move. Eventually, you have to tilt your head from smothering yourself in your pillow to breath. You stare distractedly at the elaborate vines curling around your bedroom window, the delicate twilight trickling in through the thin curtains.

It’s a ridiculous thing to be upset about, you _know_ this. But you can’t help it. What would Satan have said? Did you _want_ him to take you on another date? Not that the first one was a date! Your face is on fire, and you put your hand on your traitorous racing heart. Trying to clear your head, you smack your palms on your cheeks. 

_Get it together_.

He’s _literally_ a devil. Avatar of _Wrath_ \- any sane person would run. Even Satan would be disheartened to hear you surrendered yourself to base emotion, rather than rationality.

Although… there’s something other than your emotional attachment that has you replaying his earlier words, even if they sting. He said he’d never pass up an opportunity to piss off Lucifer, but unless his plan was to mess with your phone all along, he’d have never gotten to it. There was _no way_ Satan could have predicted your struggle with the Devildom app, right? 

_And_ that happened later in the night, long after the two of you had met up at the gates, even longer from when he first texted you. So yes, you think it’s completely believable that Satan would do such a thing to mess with Lucifer, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that’s why he sought you out. 

... _Or_ you’re delusional, and hoping for too much. 

You roll over in bed, looking up at the ceiling. With a frustrated groan, you throw your arm over your eyes. Trying to will things into existence doesn’t work for you, considering your depressing lack of magical aptitude. You don’t know how long you sit in the cool darkness of your room when your phone chirps loudly in the silence. Grabbing it off the nightstand, you unlock the screen. Two new messages from Satan. 

**Satan** : _About earlier…_

 **Satan** : _There’s always more of the Devildom that I can show you. Obviously, not a date like Asmo implied._

You stare at Satan’s messages, wondering if there’s some kind of devil psychic power that allows the brothers to know when you’re thinking about them. 

**Satan** : _However…_

 **Satan** : _I’m sure that would be a lovely way to get Lucifer riled up!_

 **Satan** : _Nevermind. It’s a date._

He sends a thumbs up little emoji. You laugh despite yourself, already too fond of his quick wit and chaotic playfulness. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you’re unsure of what to say. The smart choice would be to politely say no, but you’ve apparently never been one for self-preservation, so why start now. 

_-Sounds good to me_! 

Satan doesn’t say anything else, and you stare at the chat log for longer than you’d like to admit. You bite your lip, and damn it all, you’re far too curious for your own good. Typing in the messages as quickly as possible, you press send before you can talk yourself out of it.

_-Was that your plan all along? To just somehow use me to annoy Lucifer?_

You don’t mean it to be as accusatory as it is, and wince at how it sounds. Satan sends an emoji of a feathered creature tilting its head to the side with a question mark. Ah, hell. Here we go. Well, you know what they say. In for a penny, in for a pound. 

**Satan** : _Did I upset you with what I said to Asmo and Solomon?_

_-I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little, but something about it just didn’t make sense._

**Satan** : _Oh?_

 _-It doesn’t really make sense that you’d invite me out with the sole intention of using_ _me to mess with Lucifer if you didn’t have a  
plan to follow. You couldn’t have possibly predicted that I’d have a tech issue for you to solve, giving you access to my D.D.D... _

**Satan** : _That’s an interesting observation._

_-Thanks, I think._

**Satan** : _You’re overlooking the possibility that it was my intention to get to your phone, even if I wasn’t sure exactly how I’d get my hands_  
_on it in the first place. You are just a human, after all - it’s not much of a challenge to break your kind, and we devils can be quite convincing._

 **Satan** : _However, I will neither confirm nor deny, as that wouldn’t be any fun. But I like your line of reasoning._

 **Satan** : _Maybe you need a little more evidence to back up your claims._

Is he… _flirting_ ? You never thought you’d see ‘ _not much of a challenge to break your kind_ ’ and feel a rush of exhilaration at it, but Satan seems to be full of surprises. His words inspire boldness in you, and you’re grinning as you type in your next message.

_-I’ll be sure to further my investigations this weekend, then._

**Satan** : _Make sure that you do._

**Author's Note:**

> _"since the last note of my previously requested fic wavered for smut and you did ask foe requests.. i am here to ask for one ;D satan/mc with the prompt "When she's had a rough day, give her a rough night." ( ˘ ³˘)♡ thanks!"_
> 
> as always, au is meant to be mc/everyone, so hell yeah asmo/mc + satan/mc.
> 
> here’s some pre-pact!satan/mc for you, my friend! I try to write the mc as gender neutral usually, but this one was more molded after my own mc, a male bisexual mess. a true lad of lads. again, I'm sorry I know you wanted smut but I'm still like, way too obsessed with mc just being a hot lil thot and struggling with Feelings. I TRIED, I PROMISE. 
> 
> anyway, I'm lowkey obsessed with the concept of Satan being kind of ambivalent about the exchange program as a whole (like, I think he _gets_ why it's important...) but seeing parallels between his struggle to be something more than wrath/mc's completely new, uncharted, terrifying adventure. so my mc, who was 100% like, not about being trapped here for a year, would definitely benefit from a little tough love/push from Satan to not be a fuckin' mess.
> 
> as always, come visit me @ indiavolojones.tumblr.com! leave me requests!


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